“New Tricks”
By Preston Owen Schwartz


“Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge.” Paul Gauguin


“Are you going to play with that stupid dog all night or are we going to go to dinner,” said Kayla in her usual demonstrative tone.
“I’ll be right there honey,” said Pat in his usual obedient tone. “Just let me put Tank up in his house”.
Pat hooked the thick rope leash around the pit bull’s head and walked the dog as if he were a contestant in a fancy dog show to the large building in the corner of the backyard. There was no need to open the door as Tank knew the routine and he slowly walked in through the doggie door that Pat had created in the front of the building. Tank stopped to look back as if he did not want to go in the building, but it was only a momentary look of doggie sadness.
“Go on now big boy,” said Pat. “We will have plenty of time tomorrow to play.”
The new dog was driving Kayla crazy to say the least. The couple’s old dog had only been gone a year, and she was not ready to give her love so easily to a new dog as her husband seemed to be. Besides, it was a pit bull and the thought of the monstrous dog turning on her was ever constant in the petite female’s mind. She was no idiot, and she had seen people attacked by dogs numerous times in the emergency room where she worked in Lexington. The last thing Kayla wanted was an un-scheduled trip to work for stitches.
“All you do lately is play with that dog,” said Kayla. “I wished you paid that much attention to me sometimes.”
“I’m sorry baby, but you know he loves for me to play tug-of-war with him in the evening after work,” said Tom
“Well, that contraption you have built looks more like you are hurting the dog. I mean seriously, can he get hurt hanging by his teeth like that?” said Kayla
“No, no he loves it, trust me,” Tom countered as he hopped in the front seat of his wife’s car. But as the sound of the engine humming took over any conversation, Pat drifted off into his thoughts.
Pat sank into the seat as Kayla drove the couple off into the night. Like his wife, he missed their old dog badly. He did not like to show that emotion though. A self-proclaimed ‘man’s-man’, he had it buried like all of the pain he had ever felt in his life.
…
Chubby was his name, and the moniker definitely fit the sixty-pound mutt the couple had gotten from the local humane society. In fact, he was very lucky to have been alive. Chubby was a rescue from the streets of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. The lonely couple had followed all the news stories about shelters across the country taking in the dogs and cats rescued after the disaster, and decided they wanted to help. Upon walking into the area where the dogs were kenneled, Chubby became their instant favorite. He looked like a mix between a standard poodle and Labrador, but the techs were not sure. They called him some kind of “designer breed”. His breed was not as important to the lonely couple as Chubby’s wagging tail and happy demeanor. He seemed to realize that he was lucky to be alive.
Pat would never forget the day he came home and Chubby did not come running out to greet him in the driveway. Some evenings, it seemed Chubby was happier to see Pat than Kayla was. But something was strangely different about that evening.
The crickets were not chirping as they usually were this time of year in North Carolina. The humidity made the air heavy and hard to breathe. As Pat wandered into his own home like a stranger, he came upon Kayla on the sofa in ball.
“I can’t find him anywhere Patrick,” Kayla said as she fought back choking tears.
“Can’t find who?” said Patrick.
“Is it your brother again, has he gone on another binge? Damn, you did not give him money did you Kay-Kay?”
“No, and don’t be an asshole, it’s the dog. I can’t find Chubby,” said Kayla in an agitated voice.
Pat was soon scouring the neighborhood crying out as if looking for a lost child. All the other neighborhood dogs seemed to rise up in a chorus of howls and barks. It was if they wanted to tell Pat where Chubby had gone.
The following morning, Pat and Kayla inspected the fence of Chubby’s lot. In the rear of the lot, a small slit had been made in the fencing as if someone had cut the metal with a large pair of scissors. The only trace left behind was a tuft of their beloved’s fur which had snagged on the fence.
After calling the police, Pat’s close friend Detective Andrews came by the grieving residence. Tom had known Pat since his father’s death many years ago. That mystery had never been solved, but Tom Andrews and Pat became good friends over the years as they kept in touch over any new theories or developments in the case.
“I read the report Pat, and it just does not make sense,” said Tom. “You really think someone took that dog don’t you.”
“He was not just a dog,” snapped Kayla. “He was like our child.”
“Yes, Chubby was the child we could never have. I know people say that it is dumb to talk to a dog like a human, but I actually thought he was listening to me, unlike some people in this house.”
“Baby please, you are just a little too much right now,” chided Tom. “Just go inside and let me talk with the man a few minutes.”
Kayla entered the modest house with a loud slam of the door. Tom could see he was not going to help matters with words of comfort, so he decided on words of truth.
“Listen, I did not want to get into this with you, but I feel obligated to tell you,” said Tom.
“Recently, in this area there have been a few reports of stolen male dogs about the size of Chubby in the county. Normally, dogs just run off and some are found and some are not. I mean, hell, just look in the classifieds under ‘LOST’ and there are bound to be a few dogs missing every other day.”
“However, we have had a rash of incidents just like you reported here. The fence or dog lot was cut into and the dog was gone without a trace. Now I have a Husky that is Harry Houdini reincarnated, but she can’t use wire cutters,” said Tom in a poor attempt at humor.
“Just get to the point,” said Tom unusually annoyed with his friend. “I need to get inside and calm her down. Remember, I have to sleep beside her tonight, not you.”
“Okay, okay,” said Tom hesitantly as if he were about to divulge a horrible secret.
“We have reason to believe a large gambling operation has taken root in town right under our noses. In fact, we are going to be setting up a three-county investigation with the boys from Forsyth and Guilford counties to look into the matter.”
“What does gambling have to do with my missing dog Tom, I mean c’mon. It was probably just some kids,” Tom said as if he did not even believe it himself.
“Well, it’s not just poker and blackjack we are talking about Pat. You know why Mike Vick is in prison, right?”
“Yeah, he was involved in that dog-fighting ring up in Virginia,” said Pat as his interest suddenly seemed to peak.
“Let’s just say that we are not that far from Virginia and those problems,” said Tom like he had already disclosed more information than he was comfortable with.
“These fights bring thousands of dollars to the table Tom, and the wrong people want a slice of that pie. Now, in order to please the crowds the dogs usually fight to the death. You know pit-bulls and such, real mean dogs if trained by the wrong hand.”
“I’m still a little lost, what does this have to do with my Chubby being stolen,” said Pat.
“A couple of months ago, Mrs. Adkins complained that some of her baby goats were disappearing. Well, it turns out they were being stolen. Apparently, the ‘trainers’ of these fighting dogs need bait to get the taste of blood in their animals. They will be more likely to kill in the ring, and these ‘trainers’ would be invited back more often.”
“I remember my Mom talking about that. Mrs. Adkins’ goats I mean,” said Tom. “My Mom’s house is right behind hers.”
“Well, someone got smart to us looking after her property, and now they are taking people’s dogs now. We found a few dead not more than three miles from here in the woods. Looked as if there had been some kind of party going on with all the beer cans and trash around, but you could smell death in the air,” said Tom as he looked around as if someone might be listening.
“I don’t know if this is what happened to your pup, but if I find out I will tell you and the bastards will suffer the full consequence of the law.”
“So they are having big gambling operations going on in the woods,” said Pat. “Sounds more like a couple of rednecks having a good time to me, you just can’t be serious.”
“I said they train the dogs there, but the problem is much larger than what I am leading on. You know the big old empty furniture plants scattered all over this area?” said Tom.
“Yeah, like the one I used to work at until I was laid off when the whole operation went to China,” said Tom.
“Well, let’s just say some big fish in this little pond are likely involved. Hell, I have said too much. You always bring that out in me Patty. I have to get going. By the way, how’s those fertility drugs working with the old lady, any luck yet?,” asked Tom trying to change the subject.
“No, but you will be the first to know officer,” said Tom.
As he turned to enter the house, Pat’s expression darkened. He felt a fire lit inside him that had not burned for years. The man knew his wife was never going to have kids. At least that is what the doctors had told the couple. And now, their “child” had been taken and used as bait in entertaining the same people that had taken his job away.

…
The smoke of cigars and the smell of sweat made the room almost unbearable. From every corner men were shouting, money was exchanged, and a buzz filled the huge vacant warehouse.
In one corner a makeshift casino was running with blackjack and poker tables. Women in skimpy outfits catered to the crowd fueling the frenzy with a mix of booze and sex. It was once in this very room that Pat had worked for years to make a living for himself, and now it was a playground of debauchery.
All forms of men were present. The rich business men with their ties pulled down as if they were stressed from another day of answering emails and phone calls. The blue-collar guys who build our houses and fix our cars were lapping up the beer as if it was free. Even the lowlife scum were there lurking in the shadows waiting for a scrap to fall from the table of the rich.
Pat and Tank were ushered past the circus into a back room he was very familiar with when the warehouse was actually used for a reasonable purpose. It was the old men’s locker room, still with that familiar smell and dampness in the air.
Inside a scene from what could only be described in terms of what the gladiators could have gone through in the bowels of the coliseums of ancient Rome. Dogs, from Doberman to Pit Bull, were everywhere all restrained by heavy leashes or in some cases, chains. They all seemed poised to jump at the first animal that neared them.
Tank seemed uneasy, it was as if his canine intuition was telling him this was no place for a dog to be. In fact, he was timid and pissed on the floor when one of the larger dogs jerked hard at this chain lunging for the obvious “newbie”.
“God damn’t boy,” shouted the owner. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”
With that the gruff looking man cracked a crooked smile revealing his yellowing teeth.
“That’s an impressive animal you got there.”
“Thanks, his first night, maybe a little stage fright,” said Pat almost unsure of what he was about to do to his new best friend.
As Pat reached the far corner of the room the door burst open. A large man sporting overalls with one strap undone and no under shirt was carrying a large dog over to the “trainer’s table”. The pit bull seemed almost unresponsive to the pain he had to be in as blood dripped from numerous open wounds on his face and neck. One of his un-cropped ears was torn completely off.
The man sat the dog on the table and another rough looking man stamped a cigarette out on the concrete as he began to look the dog over.
“Looks pretty terminal to me Bart,” said the shadowy figure. “You want to do it or should I?” he asked.
“Just give me the needle,” said Bart. “I raised him and I will send to the next life.”
The mysterious man opened what looked like an old-fashioned doctor’s bag and pulled out a syringe filled with what looked like toothpaste. As Bart stuck the needle into his dog Pat could tell that the end came quickly as the animal never really flinched.
“Pat, you got five minutes and then he’s on,” shouted a man who looked like security from the door of the room.
…
“Good boy Tank, good boy,” said Pat in a father-like voice to his son. “You done real good tonight.”
Tank was bleeding from a few wounds, but none were very serious. At least that is what the mysterious smoking “vet” had told him after the fight.
“You got a good animal here,” said the man as his breath made Pat nauseous. “I bet he could have four or five more fights before he has to be put down. Make you a lot of money mister.”
“I appreciate it,” Pat said in a sarcastic tone. “Where can I find a good bait dog? I want to make sure old Tank here is ready for his next fight.”
“Remember that dog that made your boy here piss himself earlier? He’s your man, and he always gets the best bait. He used to get goats, but he started to get use dogs about a year ago,” said the man.
Pat knew what he had to do now, what he had come here to do in the first place.
Sitting in his car in the shadows of the large parking lot he watched carefully as the men filed out into the night. It was like watching a thousand thieves leaving the scene of a burglary as they all appeared to be very aware of their surroundings.
Finally, Pat’s man came out of the building. He walked towards an old beat-up truck carrying what appeared to be a dead dog inside an old burlap bag. The man slung the bag into the bed of the truck and headed towards the warehouse again.
Pat drew the weapon from its holster and gripped the steel firmly. Thoughts of revenge ran circles around his mind giving him an almost high that would carry him through his grim task.
The man walked out of the building again carrying another sack. Apparently, he had not had a very good night with his animals. Maybe he needed a few more bait dogs, but those days were at their end now.
‘This is for you Chubby,’ thought Pat as he lifted the pistol to the back of the man’s head. The loud pop seemed to disturb all of nature for just a second, and then all was quiet again.
…
“Yeah, the damnest thing Patty,” said Tom as he drank down a gulp of the beer Kayla had provided. “He was just dead right there in the parking lot.”
“I know I saw the news and I read the paper,” said Pat. “They all said he was involved in illegal dog fighting or something.”
The two friends enjoyed the silence of a cool summer evening for a moment. The cicadas hummed their familiar tune in the background.
“Makes you kind of wonder if he had really pissed somebody off or if he was taken out because of the higher-ups he knew were at these events,” said Tom. “Lot of big names would hate to have some loser like Gill Higgins extort money from them.”
“So you guys have no idea who killed the guy? Can’t you use ballistics or some of that CSI shit to solve this one? Hell, those guys do it in one hour on TV,” exclaimed Tom.
“No it does not always work like that. Maybe you should watch a little less TV Pat.”
“I know, sorry for the attitude. Just kind of reminds me of what happened to my Dad.”
“In a way, you are right,” said Tom. “Hell he used to work at that same warehouse, and hell, you did too. Of course, your father’s death looked more like a suicide than this. I never believed your dad shot himself, but I was in the minority on that.”
“Yeah this scene looked more like a cold-blooded execution. Almost like someone was getting revenge. The guy probably didn’t even hear it coming, it just all went black. Hell, I am talking too much again.”
“How’s your dog doing by the way? Kay told me you had to get him stitched up after a run-in with a raccoon?”
“Oh he will be just fine,” said Tom in a very satisfied tone. “I wonder who that guy pissed off.”
“Drug dealer, maybe a guy who he had cheated gambling,” said Tom in an unsure voice. “We all have skeletons in our closets.”
“Yeah, and some of us have cemeteries.”

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